


Side Stories: Find The Grey Warden

by eternalshiva



Series: Dragon Age Inquisition: Alistair x Inquisitor (Find The Grey Warden Universe) [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bad Puns, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Sexual Tension, Side Story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-03-21 23:12:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 5,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3707093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalshiva/pseuds/eternalshiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabble for Octavia Trevelyan and Alistair (Warden) that are prompted on Tumblr - NOT chronological to the main fic, there might be spoilers in here. Read at your own risk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Skyhold - In the Kitchens

**Author's Note:**

> noimnotevensorry: Unexpected encounter in the kitchen at night as each tries to sneak in because none can sleep and both are hungry.

Alistair slipped his hand under his linen shirt, rubbing the skin as his stomach rumbled. 

“Yes, I know.” He mumbled at it, irked that, although it had been ten years, his Warden…  _side-effects_  still made him ravenous at the strangest hours. He made his way to the kitchens in Skyhold, appreciating the clear sky above the keep - he caught the light of Octavia’s quarters and sighed, wondering what she was doing. 

He pushed the thought, he’d made enough of an ass of himself already and rubbed the back of his neck. He wondered… well, he wondered lots of things and none of them were good ideas, and certainly weren’t optional. He was a Grey Warden and Wardens had very little  _time._  Time to spare, time to love, time to…

His belly grumbled in protest, again. 

He raised a brow, climbing up the stairs to the kitchens and grasped the handle quietly, pulling it open with as little noise he could muster. 

He heard a scuffle, a yelp? The crashing sound of plates wasn’t missed and he opened the door wide, surprised to find Octavia laying on the ground, a wedge of cheese in her mouth. 

“I dare say, did I just catch a so-called dignified Tempest stealing brie in the kitchens?” He smirks at her, she groans. “You make a  _terrible_  thief.”

“Oh, hush -” she swallows hard, coughing. “What are you doing here?” She asks, sitting up and dusting herself off. She sighed at the broken platter and mourned her food on the floor. 

“Well, you know -  _Warden hunger,_  and all that.” He shrugs, eyeing the rest of the wheel of cheese on the counter. 

“No, I wouldn’t know,” she laughs and he pauses, his memories of Elissa’s expression when he told her about the hunger, the stamina… they were still mixing themselves with Octavia and he had to bite back a tinge of ache in the pit of his belly. 

 _Food_. He reminds himself.

“Well, one of the many interesting things of becoming a Warden,” he winked at her when he noticed that little glint of interest in her eye - he liked the way she grasped onto the little bits of knowledge he could afford to spare in the large array of Warden Secrets, “is how you become very hungry.” 

“How hungry?” 

“Could eat a dragon, hungry.” He motions the size with his hands, nodding sagely.

“You’re pulling my leg.” She chuckles, shaking her head. 

“I could… pull your leg,” o _ver my shoulders_ , he thinks quietly, “if you wanted me too.” He’s trying to keep himself from blushing but at the last second he catches Octavia bite her lower lip, a dusting of red across the bridge of her nose. 

 _Oh_.

“I, uh - “ he swallows and she smiles at him. He takes a breath, slowly through the nostrils and can’t help but notice how the light of the oven’s fire makes her skin glow a deeper shade. 

“Cut me another piece of meat,” she murmurs, distracting him - the moment beats once, twice between them and he turns, grabbing the knife carefully to slice the ham that was lined up next to the cheese. 

He smiles, nervous - he’s out of practice with this flirting business, he decides, but so is the inquisitor. 


	2. Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His voice cuts through the air, the camp fire smoke blowing off to the side and they’re standing across from each other. Octavia squints her eyes, knives poised in her favoured attack stance and Alistair pulls up his shield, the griffon wings framing his face in such a way she’s momentarily distracted. (Art by therealmcgee)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sgurrdearg said: post-battle/fight/training muscle aches leading to a well intention back massage. Awkward sensuality ensues.
> 
> therealmcgee said: I’m still dying with Alistair/Octavia feels. Something with sparring sexual tension? Trying to come up with something to do with Alistair’s lips because I’m obsessed rn but drawing a blank.

_ _

[art by therealmcgee](http://therealmcgee.tumblr.com/post/116212208424/his-voice-cuts-through-the-air-the-camp-fire)

_Again._

His voice cuts through the air, the camp fire smoke blowing off to the side and they’re standing across from each other. Octavia squints her eyes, knives poised in her favoured attack stance and Alistair pulls up his shield, the griffon wings framing his face in such a way she’s momentarily distracted. 

She waits for his signal, the way his sword twitches into action, the loud clip of the blade against the metal of his Warden shield as he taunts, provokes her attention and she flies into action. Her gaze focused on the wrong things. 

It focuses on the sweat beading at his brow, the way that single tear of water drips down his skin and slides against the sharp edge of his nose, the way his nostrils flare when he focuses on her movements. He tries to follow her, but she keeps disappearing.

Her toes barely touch the ground, her blades dancing in the air as she dips, dives and steps around his attacks. She’s starting to recognize his signs, the hints of his attacks the way his arm twists, how the muscle becomes taunt under the lean planes of his body. 

She can feel the air change when he raises his sword in the air and pulls at his powers to strike at her - she can taste the energy ripple in the air, the way his lips pull back against his teeth in his cry. The way the top lip curves and dips in the center, the way it kisses the lower lip - she marvels at the strong curve of it, the way it stretches when he speaks, the way it moves - heavy, light, busy with his history. She wonders what weighs them down, what they tastes like, and how she wants to pry her name from between them with her own lips, to wrap her tongue around his words and swallow each syllable. 

She twirls, sword and knife meeting with a sharp clang that vibrates through her arm, the other knife finds his side and slices the linen shirt mercilessly, igniting Alistair into fiercer attacks. 

She’s smiling, watching the way he ducks his head out of the way, the strong line of his jaw flexing under the strain of his movements - the muscle calling for her and she sighs, content. 

_Distracted._

She yelps in surprise when she feels his foot tangle with hers and the metal strike her hard when he finds her with his shield. He trips her; her spin and dagger dance stops abruptly as she spills to the ground, daggers knocked from her hands. 

“Maker!” Alistair yells, breathless. “Are you alright?” 

Octavia groans, disappointed. 

“Not really,” she rolls over, thinking how she could bury her face into the ground and suffer the embarrassment quietly. She can sense his feet close to her, his shield drops to the ground, followed by his sword. He reaches out, his warmth against her sensitive skin makes her tingle and she wonders if she used her Fire Elixir by accident. 

“Let me see,” he murmurs, eyes focused on her arm, fingers traveling the length of her arm, massaging the muscle to relax under the ache. She grinds her teeth, he thinks its for the pain but she’s trying to keep her words on lock down, keep the letters wedged between her teeth. 

“I’m fine,” she sighs, watching his hands work her skin, she thinks she can feel him tremble, just a bit. 

“I’m sure you are, humour me-” he smiles, she’s gazing at his mouth again, she twitches and she’s tired of feeling like this. She wants to tell him, she wants to forget him. She’s competing against a ghost, a Hero and she’s not sure how to break free from the weight of Elissa’s shadow so that he can see  _her_.

She swallows when their eyes meet and he doesn’t look away, his gaze steady. She’s not imagining things, he really is trembling and she’s not sure what it means.


	3. Storm Coast - Darkspawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair disagrees on how Octavia deals with sealing the Darkspawn holes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbiris asked: Hmm prompts... prompts... Sealing up some of the darkspawn tunnels and Alistair trying to convince them to reinforce them.

“You know, plywood and an apple are not going to seal that hole up properly.” Alistair crosses his arms, squinting in the darkness as Octavia gathers up more crates. 

“Apples?” She stops, looking up at him. 

“Might as well, considering all the junk you’re using. Darkspawn spend their time _digging_  tunnels and busting through Dwarven made walls.” He sighs, loudly. “How do you expect rotted wood to keep them inside the cave? Didn’t you see the size of that Great Axe, you know… the spinning one with the obvious rage issues that almost killed us?” 

The condescending tone is starting to grate at her. “What do you suggest, then?” she hisses at him, he scoffs. 

“Use the mages, set up some stones and melt the bloody stone to bind it, you need to reinforce this… whatever that is.” He’s tapping his foot, Octavia ignores him. “I’ll even go all…  _Tem_ …plar just to reinforce the spells and the bindings. Octavia, are you listening?”

“Yes,” she sighs, leaning against the stone walls, grinning. “What does that mean, exactly, going all  _tem…_ plar?” she mimicked his strange emphasis and before she could focus on him, Alistair’s eyes were glowing, white like smoke almost billowed out of his eyes. 

It looked  _amazing_ , in the darkness. She felt the energy expand from him, bursting through and making her skin tingle. 

“Incoming, four - one mage,” was all he said and she jumped back, her barricade easily breaking under the axe. She groaned, annoyed.

“Fine, you win.” She grumbles, her body becoming bright as she opened a bottle of elixir, coating herself quickly.  

“Wardens know Darkspawn, I’m not sure why you’re even arguing with me about it.” He frowns at her, she shrugs. 

 _Blackwall said it was fine_ , she thinks, never saying the words and waits for him to taunt the enemy


	4. Dance?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair has two right feet to match Octavia's two left feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jelenedrake said: Balcony scene @ Halamshiral with Alistair and Octavia

He watches Morrigan speak with her, low tones he mistrusts - he recognizes the way she folds her hands and speaks her words, weaves her story around Octavia and it takes everything in him not to march in there and… say something idiotic. 

He sighs, Morrigan had that effect on him, making him stumble in the worst way possible and now she was grasping at the Inquisitor.  _His_  inquisitor.  Well, sort of… not that he owned her or anything, she was her own woman - that’s not what he meant… 

He squinted his eyes, wondering if he should start his own thoughts over. 

Morrigan strolled past him, bowing her head slightly in acknowledgement, he raised a brow in surprise at the lack of verbal assault, and repeated her action, bowing at her slightly and headed towards the balcony.

 He put his hand on her shoulder, to catch her attention but she merely put her hand on his for a moment, gathering strength. 

“Quite the night,” he murmurs and she nods, her eyes still on the horizon of the gardens. “Anything you want to talk about? I mean, I wasn’t entirely useful-” 

“No, it’s fine - I’d rather just…” she bit her lip, moving a little further away, her arms hugging herself. Alistair frowned, she looked tired, exhausted, even. 

“I’m not very good, mind you.” 

“At what?” She looked over her shoulder, Alistair adjusted his formal Warden gear, the silver glinting against the moonlight and she admired the hues of blue weaved into the leathers and metals. 

He looked handsome, and she blew out her cheeks. 

“At dancing,” he reached out, one hand towards her and she smiled, laughing. 

“I have two left feet,” she takes his hand, feeling a bit giddy. 

“Good thing I have two right feet, then.” He winked at her, and promptly stepped on her toes. 


	5. Sleepy Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair calls the Inquisitor by the Warden's name, in a sleepy state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said: half-asleep Alistair calls Octavia by the Warden’s name
> 
> dragondizzy said: Prompt for you - an incident where he does mistakenly call Octavia Elissa, and the ensuing awkwardness / argument/ realisation/ apology/ etc 
> 
> bloomingcnidarians said: Any teasers about what happens at Adamant? (split your request into two)

The night is solemn, heavy with anxiety as the troops gather around the fires and focus themselves at the task on the morrow. 

Octavia sighs, still nursing a wound from the ritual tower, she hissed softly at the ache in her hand and wondered how that would affect her the next day. Not too badly she hoped, or wondered. She kicked sand into her fire pit, ready to call it a night but she made her way to Alistair’s tent, to check on him - he’d killed a lot of his brethren - some he knew quite well. 

She could still see his face, the sorrow there when he had to cut them down, when he realised just how far Clarel had gone to save them from a calling that didn’t exist. It pulled at her heart, she ached for him even if he didn’t want to show it. He had also been injured, and she was a bit worried.

“Alistair?” She called softly, he didn’t respond but she heard him move inside so she took it as a sign to enter.  She squinted at the shadows, the lingering fires that were outside not giving her enough light to see quite clearly but she could make out his form, in his bedroll. Griffons woofed at her softly and made his way out to give them some privacy, she supposed. He was far smarter than she had originally thought, a good fighter for his age. 

“Alistair?” She whispered again, reaching down to touch his shoulder but he reached up and grabbed her hand, pulling her off her feet. 

“Sneaky rogues,” he mumbled, sleepily, wrapping his arms around her and snuggling into her loose bun of hair. Octavia could feel his breath on the nape of her neck and she suppressed the urge to laugh. 

“I don’t believe this is appropriate, Alistair.” She whispers, trying to untangle herself from him; she they had flirted some, but this was a bit forward, even for her.  

“Elissa, you never need to ask permission to… canoodle.” He mumbles, partially snoring. Octavia froze, realising that Alistair was dreaming and all humour slipped away from her mood.

 _Elissa_. 

She waited for Alistair’s breathing to even out, she had a knot in her throat - her eyes burned a bit at the thought. What was she upset about, exactly? That he had mistaken her for his dead lover, or that she felt sadness for his loss. 

Maybe she just felt envious of the love he still carried for the Hero, she felt… silly, awkward and _tired_. 

Tired of what? She didn’t know, she didn’t want to know. 

Octavia untangled herself, rolling over to face him. He was sleeping, his mouth slightly open in a half-assed snore that was almost cute. She didn’t move when Griffons came back into the tent, settling at her feet, his large paw draping over her feet and those of Alistair. She just watched the Grey Warden, dreaming, and wondered what she needed to do to get his attention and drifted off to sleep. 

The next morning, Alistair woke to find the Inquisitor curled up against him, dead asleep. He shook her shoulder, waking her gently and she smiled at him, stretching herself with a groan. He blinked, a bit confused. 

“What- uh, if I may ask, are you doing in my bedroll?” Not that he minded, mind you, but this was a little unusual. She looked away, staring up the the ceiling of the tent. She frowned. 

“What does canoodling mean, exactly?” 

Alistair blushed. “Uh, why are you asking that?” 

“Because you pulled me into your arms last night when I came in to check up on your injury and then asked if I wanted to canoodle.” Her gaze met his and he stuttered again, clearly embarrassed. 

“I did what?”  _Maker_. He was a fool. 

“Right after you called me E-liss-a,” she quipped, her feet crossing under the heavier blanket. 

He froze, his eyes wide. “Maker, I’m so sorry.” He rubbed his face with both hands, dread filling him. Of all the things he could have said or done in his sleep, this was the worst case scenario. 

“I take it canoodling is the pre-battle ritual of… well, licking a lamppost? Taking the sausage?” She grinned at him, watching him turn from bleached white to a bright pink. She had been hurt, but it wasn’t his fault, they weren’t even… canoodling, let alone even kissed. 

They were just… interested. She had no right to be angry, and he didn’t have to be so embarrassed.

“Sweet Andraste, do you have to be so…” He frowned at her, fighting the smile. 

“Punny? I’m  _hilarious._ ”  

“You are not, and I mean it, I’m sorry - for what it’s worth.” He reached over, grabbed her hand, thumbing the back of it before she shrugged, trying not to let him see her eyes burning.  

She didn’t expect, however, the way her belly flipped when he kissed her knuckles, murmuring another apology. 

She cleared her throat, nodding, trying to ignore the sensation of his lips against her skin. 

“Apology accepted.” 


	6. Embers

Octavia stirred the embers of the fire from where she sat, near the camp pit and sighed - their day had been long and hard, traveling back to Skyhold from Crestwood. 

They had come across a small river and decided that they would camp here for the night, they were hot, sweaty and sore. The water would be good for morale, if anything. 

She poked the embers again, the smoke billowed towards her and she coughed, blinking, looking away. When she opened her eyes, she caught a glimpse of something she wasn’t expecting. 

Alistair was walking up the path from the river, his naked skin glistened under the moonlight - he was still wet and wore nothing. 

Besides a well placed shirt over his nether regions. 

She looks away, sort of, poking at the fire again. She peeks sideways, catching him bend over to enter his tent - she bites her lower lip when the muscular curve of his arse says hello before disappearing behind the flap. 

She sighed, dropping the stick to the ground before pulling her knees up to her chin and rests it on there, wrapping her arms around her legs. She didn’t notice him come back out, too entranced by the flames licking the dead wood. 

She heard him clear his throat, and looked up towards his tent again, expecting him to be fully dressed but he isnt. Her gaze landed on the wide expanse of his chest, soft curls of hair barely noticeable in the darkness but she can still see it, thanks to the orange glow of the fire. 

“Octavia,” Alistair’s voice brought her gaze to his, she saw his lips pull back into that smirk she'd discovered made her toes curl with want; maybe he knows… he had been throwing it at her quite a bit the last few days. 

“Yes?” she breathed out the words, her cheeks warming when he pulled his undershirt over his head and passed his fingers through his wet hair. She bites her lip again. 

“My eyes are up here.” 

He winked at her, and smiles - Octavia buried her face in her arms, groaning.


	7. Contemplation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair in Weisshaupt - before he left for Crestwood.

How many times had he come here? He’d lost track.

Thirteen steps to the chamber, five to the left - walk for another twenty and you’ll find the Hero of Ferelden laid to rest. Her likeness carved in stone lies deep within the chamber among the story-telling tapestries of her battles for all future and old Wardens to ponder and praise.

They would never know the memories of her skin against his own, the taste of her, what her lip scar felt like under his tongue when they kissed that last moment on the battlefield.

_Forgive me Alistair, forgive me._

He stands, alone - staring at the skull bleached by the mages who stripped it bare of flesh, stripped bare of its blood and mounted on the walls of her tomb. No one knows that the sword they left embedded in the Archdemon’s skull is really his and how she had punched him flat on his arse to take it from him.

No one wants to hear how he screamed her name, cursed his cowardice and Maker, help him, cursed Andraste for choosing his love to die in his place. No one wants to remember the way he curled around her body, bloody, broken, empty and how he kissed her cold lips and wept… and wept.

Ten years of _wandering,_ faithless and envious of death. He stares at her sleeping face, dreams of her warmth and fights the ache in his chest.

He prays, Maker, he prays for peace for himself - forgiveness.


	8. Selfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Morrigan tells him the truth.

_She could have lived, Alistair - but she chose to refuse the ritual. You know her opinion on blood magic and the likes. ‘Tis not your fault or mine, Grey Warden, but her own._  

Morrigan’s words fester in his mind, they dig and dig. Elissa’s last words to him on the battlefield in Denerim never made sense before but now… now they scrape the scar open and he  _bleeds_  and bleeds.

_Forgive me, Alistair, forgive me._

He pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes and Morrigan’s words sour the memory of his love, sours the kiss he cherished and memorised right down to how her scar felt against his lips. He could still taste her tears and the blood mixed with her farewell. 

She could have lived and… and… 

Octavia put her hand on his shoulder and Alistair turned, an angry word ready to be set loose from his tongue but the inquisitor’s worried eyes made him pause. 

He swallowed the knot in his throat and tried to speak, apologise - anything. He knew what he was about to do was wrong to Octavia but he couldn’t help it. Grief overtook him again, gripped his heart and squeezed it so hard he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak properly and explain what was wrong. 

“She could have lived, Maker, what a  _selfish_  woman.” He spat the words and Octavia blinked, realising he spoke of Elissa. She pulled him into her arms and held him close, kissing his temple.

He hadn’t cried since her funeral - he hadn’t felt so much anger since Duncan died. He gripped Octavia close to him, fingers digging into her and she whispered words he couldn’t understand. 

He squeezes his eyes shut; he wants to forget.


	9. He cannot leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> drabble - Weisshaupt.

_Did I not tell you,_ she whispered in his ear, _you are not allowed to leave?_

Alistair stared up at the tomb, kneeling at her grave - the rose withering before his eyes and he nodded at the ghost lingering in the room. 

_I will not go, anywhere._


	10. Hawke's thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both of them were idiots. (Hawke's observations)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke's POV - Chapter 2 (No Excuse Writing Meme) ask by Carpe-Cullen

Hawke took a sip of the ale and grimaced, her eyes still focused on Alistair and the Inquisitor. 

Both of them were _idiots_. 

Alistair twisted his fingers like some love struck teenager while side glancing at the woman next to him. He stuttered, fidgeted and his humour failed in every respect but the Inquisitor still laughed, enraptured by his story.  The other idiot was blushing so hard Marian was sure Octavia’s face was about to set itself on fire. The Warden couldn’t be more oblivious and the Inquisitor couldn’t read the signs he was practically throwing over to her. 

Iron Bull chuckled, observing the spectacle as well. 

“You think they’ll figure it out?” He murmured, conspiring with the Champion.

“No.” Marian added dryly, almost disgusted. She sighed and grabbed the mercenary by the arm and tugged him away from the table. 

“But I want to hear about the dragons,” he pouted. 

“I’ll tell about the _Dragon Pit_ and all its mesmerizing glory.” She smirked, wondering when Alistair would allow himself to actually _like_ another woman, maybe even _love_ her. That would depend on _Elissa_ , she wagered.  


	11. Kiss in the Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kiss Meme: #15 - Kiss in the Rain (Anon request)

Octavia is standing outside, tears mixing with the pouring rain and she can’t stop them. She can’t stop the ache deep down in her heart, she can’t keep the lie that she’s fine. 

His hands are on her shoulders, he gently spins her around to wrap his arms around her. He kisses her forehead, her shoulders shake and Alistair doesn’t know what to say. 

They listen to the waves crashing against the coast, the rain drowns out any other sound. The water slips through his gear, Octavia’s fingers grasp his belt and she cries harder against him. 

“Hey, _look_ at me.” He asks, softly, a whisper above the rain and she looks up. He presses his lips against hers, a soft touch to reassure her that everything was going to be fine. 


	12. Sad thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair wonders...

His nose rubs against hers, soft, hard and his lips seek her warmth. Octavia sighs, her mouth welcomes Alistair eagerly. 

His breath is caught in his throat - he fights the ache, the tears that burn his eyes. He wonders, while he tastes his inquisitor, while he makes her moan his name with his clever fingers against her sex- he wonders, down in the depth of his heart, if he could love another.


	13. Neck Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maker, he wants to hear her scream his name. (I want the K #10)

Art by [maybealittlesorry](http://maybealittlesorry.tumblr.com/post/117128041059/still-struggling-with-eternalshivas-neck-kiss)

 

His lips brush her skin, he can see her heart beat and he nips at it - slow languid kisses with his tongue that make her squirm against the wall. He presses his thigh between her legs, stilling her and she lets her head roll back, giving him more access to which he greedily accepts. 

His teeth bite the pulse point, soft nibbles that make her whimper. He closes his eyes, trying to calm his heart but Octavia makes another sound, whispering his name and Alistair bites his lower lip between kisses and he can feel his control ebbing with each second. 

 _Maker_ , he wants to hear her scream his name.


	14. Talk dirty to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW! 
> 
> “I’ve got a really dirty one for you…” she moaned again when he sped up his touch, she could feel the tight coil in her gut and she didn’t want it to snap just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I LOVE IT WHEN YOU TALK DIRTY" ;) HAHA OMG HMMM ALISTAIR X OCTAVIA <3— EEVEEVIE

Her lips were on his, teeth knocking in their haste to meet their need. Alistair’s hands were already undoing her trousers while her fingers lifted his shirt and dropped it to the ground. 

They kissed, sloppily and Alistair groaned when she brushed his erection with her nimble fingers. Octavia grinned against his lips and this time, she felt the length of him right to the tip enticing the most delicious whine from him. 

“I can’t wait to feel you inside me, Alistair” she murmured, her breath warm on his skin and the Warden shuddered, his need spiking with every word coming from her mouth.  “I want you to fuck me slow, and deeply…” Octavia gasped out the words when his fingers found her clit and pressed hard on it, enough to make hips twist from the pulse. 

“Are you sure about that, Inquisitor?” He teased and Octavia nodded, her hands flying to his shoulder to keep herself steady on her feet. She squeezed them hard, her breaths becoming short pants as he circled her bundle. She squirmed under his touch, which only encouraged him to double his efforts and Octavia moaned appreciatively.  

“I love it when you talk to me like that. Tell me what you want, Octavia.” He kissed her again, tugging on her lower lip with his teeth and the Inquisitor gripped his shoulders again, her hips twitching, rolling against his hand when he slid one digit between her slicked lips and enters her.  

Octavia let out a soft appreciative  _Oh_  when he slipped a second finger inside, and a third. He slowly pumped them in and out of her. She was lost to the sensations, his words barely registering when he spoke again. “You like it when I talk dirty?” 

Alistair nodded, his eyes squeezing shut in concentration, trying to ignore the feel of her fingers when she slipped then inside his undone trousers and she grabbed his length. He’s hot under her touch, a bead of liquid already smearing itself on her fingers. 

Octavia bit her lip, her lips pulling back in a hiss when he stroked her clit and she’s sure she’s going to fall apart if he kept this up. She motioned to the bed behind them and he understood the unspoken request but he didn’t budge. Her pleasure mounted with every twist of his hand, stringing her along but she wanted to feel his weight on top of her. This wouldn’t do. 

She leaned in, nearly grinding her teeth to keep herself in control but he knew all the spots to get her to come quickly and, growing  _desperate_ , she mumbled another string of words in Alistair’s ear. 

“I’ve got a _really_ dirty one for you…” she moaned again when he sped up his touch, she could feel the tight coil in her gut and she didn’t want it to snap just yet.

Octavia could sense his grin, his anticipation as he slowed down to allow her to think straight and she quickly took advantage of this reprieve.

“A white horse fell into the mud.” She whispered in that _tone_ that usually made him kiss her hard or fuck her with complete abandon.

Alistair blinked, confused for a moment and unsure if she had actually said the words, but he had to appreciate the truth behind them. 

“That’s… _absolutely_ dirty, I agree.” Alistair burst out laughing and Octavia smiled at him. “That’s a terrible joke, who taught you that, I have to thank them.” He pointed out and Octavia nodded in agreement. 

“The horse master whispered it in my ear one fine morning,” she purred at him and when he grimaced at her she laughed. “I’m teasing, I learned from the best, you.” She pecked him on the lips and somehow managed to get his fingers out of her trousers long enough to kick the offending leathers off and dragged Alistair towards the bed. 

“Now,” she pulled him down, his body warm against hers. She noted that his trousers were still in the way but, she didn’t mind; he slid down her body and kissed his way down, licking and tasting her skin. 

Octavia warmed over with a strange shyness, thinking of something else to say to encourage her eager lover. Nervousness fluttered across her belly but she liked this feeling. “Make me come with your mouth,” she whispered. 

He kissed the inside of her thigh, the stubble brushing against the sensitive skin there once, twice and when his tongue found her clit, she lost all track of time. 


	15. Unfamiliar Kiss

Octavia brushed the tip of her fingers against his cheek, the scruff unfamiliar but exciting at the same time. She hummed quietly, her gaze meeting his.

Alistair swallowed, nervous, his fingers digging into her hips.


	16. You'll be the death of me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Frantic Pulse. 
> 
> He reached for her, fingers testing the gear, eyes on her skin and his heart beating frantically under his bones and he’s whispering against his own fears: She’s fine. She’s fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FOR ALISTAIR AND OCTAVIA HOW ABOUT THE OLD FASHION "FRANTIC PULSE CHECK". YOU KNOW THE SEX THAT SUPPOSEDLY HAPPENS WHEN SOMEONE ALMOST DIES OR THE LIKE WHICH IS SO WEIRD CAUSE USUALLY PEOPLE ARE BEAT UP AND NOT INTERESTED! XD— DARTHMAMA

She’s laughing, standing up -the wound in her side is nothing and he knows that but the panic still lingers, still rots his core. 

He reached for her, fingers testing the gear, eyes on her skin and his heart beating frantically under his bones and he’s whispering against his own fears: _She’s fine. She’s fine_. 

“I’m okay, don’t worry, Alistair.” Her eyes say otherwise, there’s fear there - worry and he takes her face into his hands, eyes to eyes - breath to breath and he’s still whispering _you’re okay, you’re fine_. 

She’s nodding, she’s holding on to his hips and he kisses her hard, breathless and she’s laughing again against his lips, and he smiles. 

I’m fine, she whispers back. 

“Maker’s breath, Octavia, you’ll be the death of me.”


End file.
